


Peter Parker vs. The [Second] Strongest Avenger

by KayGryffin



Series: Stuck Together [5]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adopted Children, Adopted Peter Parker, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Aunt Natasha Romanov, Bruce Banner & Thor Friendship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Kid Peter Parker, Minor Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Stark Industries, Steve Rogers & Thor Friendship, Steve Rogers is a Good Dad, Thor (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Thor: The Dark World Spoilers, Uncle Clint Barton, uncle bruce banner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-10-31 10:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17847302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayGryffin/pseuds/KayGryffin
Summary: “But honestly, Peter,” Clint says, “Thor is not a bad person. He’s not trying to be mean to you or test your loyalty to Tony or anything like that. Thor just is very good at… not reading situations very well.”“He means to say that Thor has good intentions,” Natta adds, “And you should let him try to talk to you; because that’s all he’d like to do. You’re his friend's son and he would just like to understand you more.”Clint gives her a look. “You consider Tony Thor's friend?” he asks....The God of Thunder makes his return into the Avenger's world, and makes a resoundingly bad first impression on a one young Peter Parker, AKA the adopted son of Iron Man and Captain America.





	1. Bang

It’s with a literal bang rather than a hush that Thor dramatically enters Peter’s life a few months after the Mandarin incident at two AM in the morning by way of a lightning strike contacting the Avengers tower, waking up all inhabitants with the substantial tremor that accompanies the loud crashing sound of electricity against cement; Peter shocked into waking up in a bolt upright position in his bed. His breath’s still heaving as Tony runs in, his hair matted down against his skull on the right side, which would be hilarious if he doesn’t look so freaked out as he rubs Peter down, checking for nonexistent damage despite the boy himself trying to inform the man so. It’s then that JARVIS decides to inform Tony that the building’s structural integrity has been damaged a fraction of a percentage as a result, and Peter must admit; Tony’s responding scream of absolute anger is funny, watching his adoptive father sprint out of the room, talking aloud to himself about fucking Norse gods and their lack of care for other people’s things.

Peter’s hair has been recently cut, which he figures is the only saving grace he has because when he walks into the main room of the communal floor about ten minutes later, dressed in a Hulk t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans because he’s figuring that a return to sleep isn’t in the books, he feels severely under-dressed to be in the presence of the god. Thor leaks an aura of confidence, of royalty, and Peter feels a bit like a pauper in comparison, which he figures he would be, considering Thor’s a literal prince, and he can’t help but wonder if Thor notices that the shirt he's wearing had been atop his laundry pile. He fidgets with the hem of his shirt, looking down at his feet, cursing himself quietly because he’d thought he was over this phase of not being able to make eye contact with new people, but he also figures that it has more to do with the fact that he’s currently in the room with the goddamn God of Thunder.

Natta hadn’t even bothered to get redressed, still in the Hulk t-shirt she’d bought a while back to match with Peter and candy corn boxers she’d gone to sleep in, and she didn’t look the least bit concerned with giving a damn about what Thor, who’s decked out in full body armor and a _cape_ , thinks of her as she rubs soothing circles on Uncle Bruce’s back, the man having figured that there was some sort of threat and apparently having nearly Hulked out in reaction. Bruce is quiet, but that’s because he’s so busy glaring at Thor with the promise of death evident in his eye, which is amplified by the similar look Natta’s sending Thor in solidarity, and the man has the decency to look sheepish, holding up his hands in needless surrender. Clint’s busy laughing; doubled over with his hands wrapped around his midsection, because it’s admittedly _hilarious_ that Bruce thinks he’s so threatening because although as the Hulk he’s terrifying when he’s just Bruce he’s about as threatening as a de-clawed kitten.

Tony immediately begins to tear into Thor when he arrives, a tablet already in hand as he rushes to figure out the damaged areas of his building, asking him what’s so hard about using the door like anyone else would, not even giving him a chance to explain himself as he rips into him, not just about the building damage, but about how it’s been months since any of them have even heard from him, and it’s been clear that the man is perfectly content ignoring them, so why would he come now in the least subtle way possible when he’s been virtually under the radar for months? It’s rude, Tony insists with a scowl, so damned rude, and then proceeds to inform him that he hasn’t got a prime choice of floors anymore for his choosing, so he better pick wisely and give Tony about ten hours to get it furnished with the bare necessities, which is all he’s getting because the goddamn crown prince of Asgard and keeper of the nine realms can get his own damned furniture.

Peter’s silent all throughout, mostly because he’s entirely too aware that he’s in the room with a freaking god who doesn’t even know he exists, and it’s for that reason that he hangs back on the outskirts of the room despite wanting nothing more than to ask him a million and one questions about Asgard and gleam the truth from the myth of the stories of these gods, because he read a (highly edited) excerpt from the Poetic Edda once and it was so _cool_. Natta spots him quickly, the glare virtually disappearing as she levels him with a soft look, and she motions for him to come close with a smile, which he hesitantly does, because going closer means getting closer to Thor, and he’s already bursting with nervousness. She wraps a reassuring arm around Peter’s shoulders, whispering that he’s the most adorable little thing in his Hulk shirt, at which Bruce blushes in reaction and mumble out an embarrassed " _Natashaaaah,"_ but smiles nonetheless, for the most part calmer now, but still a bit annoyed that it was even brought to such a point, which isn’t unjustified, Peter will admit.

“Where is the Captain Rogers?” Thor asks when he gets the chance, looking around the room at his team members curiously, as if he’s making sure that there’s in fact another person who’s supposed to be there.

“He’s busy trying to tell the orderlies downstairs that there’s nothing to worry about, since you decided to use fucking lightning as a mode of transportation,” Tony hisses, “And there better not be any burns on my building, or I _swear_ —”

Thor’s seemingly beginning to tune Tony out as he looks over at Peter, finally, and the boy’s breath catches right there in his throat as he tries to fall behind his Tetya, eyes going wide because _oh god there’s a god looking at me_ , and Thor points at him and says blankly, curious look present in his eye, “There is a child.”

Clint’s still laughing, but he manages to roll his eyes. “Good observational skills, buddy.”

If looks could kill, Clint would have no remains from the glare Thor delivers him. The incineration would be instantaneous and irrefutable.

“Is the boy a member of the team now, too?” Thor asks, and Peter frowns, because it doesn’t matter if Thor’s a god or not, no kid likes being talked about as if they’re not there by _any_ adult.

So Peter swallows dryly and responds, “I’m Tony’s son.”

Thor looks so utterly confused that it’s honestly laughable—in fact, Tony does laugh, the first positive reaction he’s had to anything all night, and Nat gives him a squeeze in response, a silent display of pride in him. Clint’s practically crying in reaction, his entire body shaking as he’s forced to use the edge of the coffee table for support when he crashes to his knees, his breaths wheezing and labored, skin flushed bright red with warmth. Thor looks towards Tony in reaction, as if trying to confirm it, and when Tony does little more than shrug the confusion seems to worsen, as if he can’t consolidate what he’s hearing with his prior knowledge, and he mutters,

“I think I should’ve kept in contact a bit better.”

Like Peter assumed, sleep isn’t something he returns to, so Steve treats him to an early breakfast at a twenty-four-hour diner none too far from the tower after he’s done securing the building. The owner of the diner knows the pair of them well enough after the past few months of reliable patronage, so Steve shucks the heavy jacket and ballcap as soon as they get to their regular booth, displaying sleep-tousled blond locks and a tired, yet complacent, look in his eye. Steve hasn’t shaved yet, a growth developing on his cheeks, and the t-shirt he’s wearing is covered with charcoal smudges and paint stains, and somehow he looks more put-together than Peter is at the moment, and Peter hopes it has something to do with the fact that abnormal is essentially the Avengers’ M.O as a group. Sure, it’s out of left field, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s pretty much just another Tuesday morning for Steve Rogers.

For Peter, who is usually as far removed from the freaky as they can get him, this is pretty much already the strangest day of his life so far, and he’s only an hour into it. It’s a bit much to take in at three-thirty-two AM, but honestly? It’s so _awesome_. In fact, it’s probably one of the coolest days of his life so far.

“Thor’s not a bad guy,” Steve tells him as he drizzles maple syrup atop his excessively tall stack of blueberry pancakes (because Steve is a walking, talking representation of American stereotypes and ideals). “He’s actually a giant teddy bear. You’ll like him.”

“It’s weird that you’re calling him a teddy bear when he kinda put a dent in Tony's building,” Peter responds with an arched brow, only half serious, biting into French toast with a vigor. He’s not that hungry, it’s just that this diner’s French toast is the _bomb_. “He doesn’t scream _cuddle me_ , after all.”

His Pops chuckles. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Steve allows as he spears the pancakes, “But doesn’t mean that he isn’t, though. He’s a bit overly affectionate considering he comes from a war culture. But, then again, Asgard and the rest of the Nine Realms are pretty far ahead of us down here on Earth in terms of society and the roles of people, so it’s entirely possible that this is the way he was raised. I’m not sure. But I am sure that any man who cries at a limping kitten can’t really be too bad of a guy.” He shrugs. “But maybe that’s just my personal assumption.”

Peter stares at his Pops for a moment longer before asking, “Did he really do that?”

“Little black cat with grey socks on three feet and big green eyes,” Steve says in way of answer before pulling out his phone, looking at the illuminated screen before his face alighting with a certain affection that Peter immediately knows it’s his Dad messaging him. “Tony already harassed a construction crew to come in and look at the building. He’s already spotted the weakened points and he’s annoyed about it all.”

Peter shakes his head. He’s just glad Tony’s not trying to fix it himself. He’s extremely talented with metal and wood, but he’s abysmal with concrete. It’s just not his thing, like cooking or not cheating at Super Smash Brothers—he just can’t do it, and it frustrates him, really, because the man believes that if it has anything to do with his hands he can do it, which is true for many things—just not for something coarse like concrete work. It requires a different sort of precision than what Tony’s capable of, though he’ll never see it this way, though it does speak volumes that his father hasn’t decided to just fix it on his own.

(Which is probably attributed to the fact that Pepper will rain down fire and brimstone if she figures out he’s put the structural integrity of the entire building a risk, considering it houses not only the team itself but a few more people on its lower levels, not to mention the entirety of Stark Industries’ only R&D site for the entirety of the North American quadrant, but Peter figures that he shouldn’t talk about the threats she’s made to Tony.)

“What about Thor’s furnishings? Dad wouldn’t leave him with the bare minimums, no matter what he says,” Peter asks curiously, beginning to tear into the eggs he’s not entirely in the mood for but ordered anyways, eyeing his pops’ blueberry pancakes half-mindedly, smiling with Steve rolls his eyes affectionately and pushes his plate closer to the boy so he can steal a few bites.

“I assume he’ll just have Pepper pull the things he got for Thor out of storage,” Pops responds with a shrug, “If he’s got things in storage, I’m assuming.”

“Please, it’s _Dad_ ,” Peter reminds his father, “He’s definitely got something.”


	2. Nerves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Thor's both literal and figuratively explosive entrance, Peter finds himself struggling with his own self and his need to fit in.

They return with a wrapped-up platter of buttermilk pancakes in hand for Tony, who’s still grumbling to himself about the damage with a cup of coffee in hand, bare feet propped up on the coffee table as his fingers dance across the holographic display projected before him; eyes darting through the information inhumanly fast as he seemingly orders a construction crew to come in for two PM that day, a civil engineer from downstairs to come in for nine AM, and about thirty pies from his favorite place for dinner, not to mention a team of painters and interior designers to deal with the setup of Thor’s floor. He’s so wrapped up in what he’s doing he doesn’t even notice that the two of them when they enter, and they don’t dare interrupt; Steve simply places the pancakes beside Tony and sends Peter off to go shower.

“Do I have to go to school today?” Peter asks.

Pops arches a brow.

“You sick and dying now, Peter?” he asks in response.

Peter makes a whining sound he’s not too proud of, but he really wants to stay home now; it’s not too often that they have a flippin’ _alien_ staying with them, after all, and despite the earlier offense he really is so curious about the man and just wants to ask him all sorts of questions, and school is going to steal such precious time from him that he could spend finding out about a small section of the universe, but Steve’s not looking like he’s going to bend anytime soon, if the no-nonsense look in his eyes is any evidence towards the idea, and plus the Brooklyn accent seeped out with his words; that usually indicates a certain level of seriousness. He’s almost tempted to ask Tony for backup, but when he looks over at him, he’s reminded that he’s almost entirely unhelpful when he’s so focused because, whilst he’s realized he has pancakes now, he’s also just smashing it against his mouth because his mind is otherwise concerned with apparently more important things than the act of actually physically opening his mouth to consume the food.

So Peter finds himself at school, cheek in his palm, staring out the window in the direction of the tower, knowing his view would be obscured by the trees and buildings but doing so regardless, because _why on Earth_ would he be listening to the hidden meanings of S.E. Hinton’s _the Outsiders_ when he could’ve been hanging out with a goddamn _alien_? Why would Steve believe he could just go from that to school with absolutely no problems at all? It’s so entirely _unrealistic_ , and it has Peter on the edge of his seat all through his English class, both literally and figuratively, which is what causes his teacher to chastise him in the middle of class.

And it’s not an isolated incident, no—he’s like this the entire day.

The _entire_ day.

In algebra, he’s jiggling his leg so much it disrupts the person whose under-seat shelf Peter has propped his feet on.

In gym, he’s paying so little attention that he gets his legs kicked out from under him by a fellow classmate who wanted the ball that had gotten passed to him.

In science, he nearly burns a hole in his lab coat because he had turned the burner on by accident and propped his elbow atop of it.

He’s a mess the entire day, and his only relief from all of it is when he gets to bolt from the school building at precisely 2:45 and hop on the train home, quaking with excitement and nervousness alike, because he has no idea what Thor will be like. He’s gotten so close with the other Avengers but he’s only got word of mouth to go off with Thor, and it’s as terrifying as it is glorious. He’s going to meet a _god._ A _god_! An actual, literal god in all senses of the word, with tales of glory and wonder written about him and his conquests, and _he_ , Peter Benjamin Parker, is going to _meet a god_. It’s far exceeding anything Peter could have ever dreamed for how his life can go, right up there with being adopted by a man like his Dad, but just under it, still—nothing can ever top that.

But it does get very close, admittedly, especially when he sees Thor in sweatpants and a t-shirt, arguing with Clint about the merits of Grand Theft Auto.

The whole situation stuns Peter into a sort of silence, because nothing less god-like could ever spring to his mind. All the way home, he’s been imagining Thor being catered to hand and foot by the other Avengers, though he already knows the scenario to be entirely unlikely given who the Avengers are. It makes more sense to see Clint waving his hands in wild gesticulation as he questions Thor on the insanity of actually following the law in the game rather than going on a berserker, or at least far more sense than Clint hand-feeding his taller counterpart grapes or some other fruit, and it also somehow makes sense that Clint would be right up in his face as he does it, because Clint may be lacking in superpowers, but that little factoid has never been something to stop one of his favorite new family members.

However, still, while it makes too much sense, while it does adhere to the reality the team has set up for themselves, for Peter, who’s only been living in the tower with them for the better part of a year, it’s somehow more incredible than what he so expected beforehand, hence his silence. It takes a lot of brainpower to even remind himself to _breathe_ , he’s so in awe of the scene, especially when Thor argues back with an equivalent vigor to Clint’s that following the law helped to develop more skills for the game as a whole; given the difficulty level that the game creates towards being lawful, making an excellent point Peter’s never thought of but is certainly not thinking of now, because although he knows Thor is a god, right now, he also just looks like a regular guy. It has a lot to do with the fact that Thor’s done away with his cape and his armor and traded it in for the t-shirt and sweats, his locks messily tied back and off his face with what appears to be a rubber band, but it’s not only in that—though the memory of Thor’s entrance is still that of grandeur, Thor’s not currently holding himself in such a way. He can only assume that it’s due to his comfortability with his surroundings, with Clint; that’s responsible for such a drastic change.

He’s so caught up in this undramatic wonder that Thor has put on unintentionally that he doesn’t even notice someone sneaking up behind him until he’s literally swept off his feet, kicked out from under him in a smooth movement that he knows has to be his beloved Tetya before his back even makes contact with the ground, Natta’s face over his in a moment as she puts her arm to his throat, pressing down just enough to let him know how, if it had been another person, if _he_ had been another person, he would very much have lost possession of his life.

“Peter,” she reminds him, calm and cool as ever, “What did I tell you about your attentions?”

Ever since the Mandarin incident, Natasha’s taken it upon herself to train Peter for the worst case. Peter’s always been aware that being a part of Tony’s life comes with a certain amount of risk to those around Tony himself, Peter more so than others because he, like Clint and Natasha both, didn’t benefit from superhuman abilities, and unlike Clint and Natasha both, didn’t benefit from upbringings to put him on the same level as those with abilities—he needs to train to earn his keep in his Dad’s world. He can’t always rely on someone else to protect him from the bad that would come after the Avengers; he needs to rely on himself to a certain point, which is where Natasha’s training comes in, something he’s usually grateful for but, at this juncture, he can’t help the mortification that rises to his cheeks as Natasha helps him to his feet, feeling Thor’s curious gaze on him now that attention has been drawn towards him. He can’t even lift his head as Natta pats him on the back, reminding him to always keep on his toes, biting his lip nervously as he shuffles quietly towards the fridge, trying to keep the cool he knows he doesn’t possess by hiding his burning face in the cabinets as he searches for a snack he can’t eat because the butterflies in his stomach are far too unsettling.

Peter’s never been too good with meeting new people. There are far too many instance to count that’s happened in his past to lead to this conclusion, but at the end of the day, Peter’s just not good with meeting new people. It takes him a while to work around his own self to allow himself to open up, and in most cases, by then, the people have already lost their interest in him. Tony, Steve and the team are exceptions to the rule, obviously, but that doesn’t make the idea of meeting Thor _not_ be utterly terrifying, no matter how excited he is to meet him, so when Clint calls out to him for a match in Tekken, it’s all Peter can do to mumble something about homework and escape the room as quickly as he can.

“Weird,” he hears Thor comment right before the elevator doors close, causing him to hang his head in shame.

Even a _god_ thinks he’s weird.

He’s not wrong, though. Peter _is_ weird. At his age, Peter should be concerned with going out, hanging out with friends, but he’s happy enough to stay indoors and tinker with technology by himself. Sure, he lacks friends, but he’s got so much more going for him right now—his parents are _Avengers_ , for crying out loud. Actual, bona fide heroes. And, even if they weren’t heroes, he’s happy enough he’s even _got_ parents. Two years ago, he didn’t even think he would ever _get_ parents. And now he’s got two parents and three uncles and an aunt and he’s got an actual family and, frankly, he doesn’t even care about being considered weird because he’s _happy_.

But still, it still stings a bit to think that Thor thinks he’s weird.

(Because how could it  _not_?)


	3. Anxiousness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Thor get to know each other. It doesn't end up well.

“I don’t think he really thinks you’re weird, Peter,” Uncle Bruce tells him, looking up from his work to give Peter all his attention.

Peter sighs, rubbing his upper arm. When he got to the condo and realized how busy both of his parents were—Dad with cleaning up the physical mess Thor’s made, and Pops with the social impact of it—he scampered off to give his parents the space they needed to completely deal with the issues as the undisputed leaders of the team; running down the one flight of stairs to the labs and workshops Tony and Bruce developed for not only the team’s use, but for research and design of S.I. productions as well. Peter currently sits right across the work bench from Bruce, who’s given a wide berth by the employees scattered about the lab at various work stations—mostly out of respect, but both of them are also aware of the fear present, too.

“Yeah, but how do you _know_?” Peter asks in a quiet voice, fidgeting slightly in his stool, biting his lip.

Among his whole new family, his uncle is possibly the most well-adjusted of them all, which is something considering Bruce’s claim to international fame. He’s more aware of reality always, more so than the others can be, and can sometimes more easily understand Peter’s issues than even Peter can, and responds better to them than his parents do, because Bruce always aims to solve the problem whereas his parents sometimes do little more than coddle him.

Bruce shrugs and responds, “I don’t, but I’d like to think Thor’s better than that. From what I’ve experienced, he doesn’t start judging until after the initial conversation, and you haven’t even had that.”

If anything, Peter hangs his head lower. “He’s a _god_ , Bruce.”

Bruce chuckles. “Demigod, more accurately.”

“That’s _still_ a god,” Peter reminds him.

“Yeah, but… it’s a little one?” he tries, rubbing the back of his head.

“Little, big; god’s still the descriptor.” Peter rubs his cheeks, the fame afresh under his skin as he moans, “How am I supposed to talk to a god, Bruce?”

“Same way you talk to any of the rest of us, I guess,” Bruce says with a shrug, “Breathe and remember that he’s your neighbor and you really can’t avoid him anyways. And also that we’re all having dinner in the same room tonight on Clint’s insistence so you’re going to be in close proximity anyways and _jeez_ , relax Peter; we’re not executing you,” he ends because Peter has a face that he can only guess clearly portrays how much he wants to crawl into a hole and die in response to this news.

“Can I skip?” he asks.

Again, he shrugs.

“Sure,” he tells him, but he also informs him that if he chooses to do so, then he will not be given any access to the food that would be consumed during the course of the meal, which he’s told will include Clint’s homemade, from-scratch apple pie, an order handed down to him from Natasha to deliver to Peter, who begrudgingly makes an appearance that night at the dinner table as not to miss out on the aforementioned pie, glaring at his aunt from his place across the table from her. She hardly takes notice, other than a small look of satisfaction she shoots towards Peter when he sits down between his parents, Pops on his right and Dad to his left.

(If he could kick her and get away with it, he would. But as the end result would probably be a trip to the emergency room with a broken appendage, he knows better, and she knows it, too, which makes her smugness further grating.)

Dad does, however, notice her smugness, and with a hint of annoyance he asks of her to stop blackmailing Peter into doing things, to which she responds, all too gleefully,

“Peter should stop making it so easy for me,”

Taking a bite of ziti as she does.

Thor, who sits on the other side of Bruce, leans over the table just a tad to get a good look at Natasha, as if to ascertain how serious she is about blackmailing children. Clint laughs, clapping a hand on Thor’s shoulder as he reminds Thor that this is just the way Natasha is, that this is just her showing how much she cares about Peter.

“By holding things hostage and forcing him to do things he doesn’t want to do,” Natasha says in agreement, nodding in solidarity as she continues to eat calmly, as if they’re speaking about the weather, while Peter just tries his best to reel back his glare and focus on eating his ziti. Clint’s always been good with meals like this, it’s why sometimes the rest of the team calls him the mother unit whenever they see him in the kitchen. Of course, officially, the team mom is apparently Tony, so they’re very quiet with this whole mother unit business.

“Evil is thy name,” Tony says, shaking his [butter] knife at her, “Leave my child be!”

Natasha eyes the [butter] knife. “I can relieve you of that hand if you’d like,” she informs him, “I assume that you’re only shaking it around like that because you’d like to lose it.”

Bruce sighs, giving a small but shaky smile. “I thought we agreed that we’d stop making threats at the dinner table. Remember the Sweet & Sour Debacle?”

“Too well,” Steve muses quietly, “Stop shaking the knife at Nat, Tony.”

“It might as well actually _be_ butter, you can’t do anything with it,” Tony argues.

“I could name a bunch of ways to use that efficiently,” Natasha says with cold seriousness in her voice.

“Hey,” Clint says now, calling all of their attention towards him at the opposite end of the table from Steve, a bright and happy smile on his face as he says, “Super or not, spill blood on the ziti and deep regret will be the last emotion you experience before your untimely demise.”

The color bleeds from Tony’s face in response, a normal, expected response by Peter’s standards, but Thor, for his part; he just laughs—but not a normal laugh, no. Thor laughs in a way that he can feel the vibrations of it radiate throughout his entire being, all parts inhuman and alien. You’d think Clint just told the funniest joke to ever be told, the way he’s laughing, and it’s so infectious that it even has Natasha cracking a smile. Thor raises his arm up, holding his mug of beer aloft.

“I have missed this,” he declares for all to hear, as if a decree more than a simple statement of fact, “It feels good to come back to this.”

Tony, for his part, makes his eye roll audible when he says, “Yeah, big guy; we missed you, too,” even though the affection his loud and clear in his words along with his exasperation with Thor. Peter can’t help the quiet giggle that escapes his lips, attempting to smother it with a hand over his lips. He doesn’t do a decent job, he realizes, as Thor’s gaze is instantly upon him, the humor replaced with the curiosity so quick that Peter’s head is spinning. He looks between Peter and Tony for a quick second before stating aloud how they don’t look alike at all, his question unspoken but heard nonetheless.

“Peter’s my adopted son,” Tony explains with a shrug, talking through chewed bits of ziti, “I didn’t suddenly develop a preteen.”

Thor nods, brow furrowing. “How fresh is this?”

“About a year or two,” Tony says after a moment of thought, though Peter knows that he knows it’s been exactly a year and seven months because Tony’s been planning a party to celebrate the anniversary of it (though he doesn’t know that Peter knows about it), “It’s relatively fresh. You’d know, you know, if you hung around more often, visited.”

“I have been busy,” Thor says by way of explanation, looking sincerely apologetic.

“You’re an alien prince inheriting a couple of planets. You’ve got a lot on your plate that’s more important than hanging out with us lowly earthlings,” interjects Clint, waving it off with a flick of his wrist.

Thor seems discomforted by Clint’s words, but only just slightly before he shrugs it off.

“I have been relieved of my inheritance, so my plate shall be slightly lighter now,” Thor announces with a quickly formed smile, raising his mug once more, “So hanging around may become easier.”

Clint blinks, the entire team stunned into a momentary silence until Steve asks, “You’ve been relieved of _what_ now?”

Tony rubs the bridge of his nose. “Point Break, do _not_ tell me you gave up your throne. Do not tell me that the richest man on this planet has just been unseated by a _literal_ prince who’s _literally_ given up his crown. Tell me there was a mutiny of some sort and the whole of Asgard has been taken over by the rebels and you’ve run to Earth to hide from the bastards who stole your throne.”

“I do not run from my enemies, Stark,” Thor says in a no-nonsense tone, leveling Tony with a glare, “Do it well to remember that.”

Bruce sighed. “Why would you give up your throne?”

Even Steve and Natasha are visibly curious to hear the answer, and truth be told, Peter’s curious, too. After all, if he was a prince, especially to what Thor was prince to—the Nine Realms of Yggdrasil; Nidavellir, Vanaheim, Alfheim, Jotunheim, Niflheim, Svartalfheim, Muspelheim, Asgard and Midgard—Peter would be hard pressed to find reason to give up his claim. From what he knows from researching the Poetic Edda (which he had done the moment he’d first seen Thor on the live TV footage when his school went on lockdown during the battle of New York), extraordinary magics could be found throughout these worlds, though none more extraordinary than that of the Bifrost, a controllable wormhole placed on Asgard, the stronghold of some of the most powerful artifacts in the entire known universe, making the king of such a world one of the most powerful people in the entire known universe. Peter’s not the kind to crave power, but even he can’t understand why one would wish to give up the kind of power Thor is giving up, but the look on Thor’s face is what makes him worried about the answer.

It’s not of regret, per say, though it does have its part in the furrowing of Thor’s brow. No, if he’d have to pick one set emotion to define Thor’s expression as, it’d be under the umbrella of pure and true sadness, though he does his best to hide it behind the guise of a smile, lifting the mug to his lips to take another long swig of his beer, and with this, Peter can empathize, for he can understand having to pretend to be happy; he’d done it for such a long time back at the home, back when he bounced around the state through foster homes, back when he’d been picked on at school for being the weird kid, back when he had to brave through all those days alone because he had no one and nothing, and while he knows his past is by no means comparable to Thor’s present, he knows the feeling is still one and the same, and he can feel it even now, deep in his chest, singing to his deepest insecurities.

It’s for that reason that he turns suddenly to Steve and tells him with an enthusiasm that he fakes all too easily, “My robotics team won an award!”

Steve blinks, momentarily confused by the sudden change of topic before he realizes what Peter’s trying to do, and why Peter’s picked him as a cohort in this, and he smiles, giving him the interest Peter wants from him as he asks about it, even though both he and Tony know all about it because they were both told two weeks ago about it.

The dinner passes with no more noticeable blips thanks to Peter’s swift conversational misdirection, though Thor is noticeably silent throughout, possibly because he wouldn’t have anything to interject since Peter steamrolled the conversation along from that point forward; how to deal with human kids more than likely not part of princely training. The other Avengers caught onto what Peter was trying to do very quickly, allowing Peter to take hold of the conversation, though they did keep looking towards Thor with genuine concern in their eyes. The man himself didn’t seem to notice, he actually was strangely attentive to the conversation they had around him, listening despite not actually being a part of any of it.

The next few days would come to pass with little to no incident. Despite his grand entrance, Thor quickly proves himself to be a quiet neighbor, his presence largely unnoticed unless he otherwise brought attention to himself, which the man only does when excited, like when he accidentally rips Clint’s PlayStation controller apart, cracking it in half, or like when he puts a dent in the wall when he throws the TV remote a bit too hard in a pass to Tony. Within the course of the next week, Thor becomes a normal sight to the acclimating Peter, who still has yet to try and make an actual conversation with him because, other than the whole god thing, it’s also really hard to make conversation with a person he knows he has nothing in common with.

However, about two weeks in to Thor’s extended stay, the god corners him in the elevator as he’s coming up from the subway, bookbag still on, and asks him to join him for a drink.

Peter’s nervous as he says, “I’m not old enough to drink, though,” holding tight onto the strap of his bookbag as he eyes the counter display for the floor they currently were on—the sixteenth.

Thor blinks owlishly. “There’s a minimum age to drink on this planet?” he asks.

He nods. “In this country, it’s twenty-one,” he informs the god.

“Oh,” Thor says, nodding as he takes in the information he hasn’t even considered before saying, “No matter. We shall drink anyways.”

“Pops will literally kill you if you give me alcohol,” he says.

His brow wrinkles. “Pops?” he questions.

“Steve,” Peter defines.

Again, he nods, visibly considering the information. “Can I drink while you have a glass of something non-alcoholic—one of these sodas, perhaps?” he suggests, holding up the yellow plastic grocery bag in his hand.

The compromise is good enough, Peter decides, so he finds himself sitting across from Thor at the small table in the corner of the kitchen in Thor’s own private quarters, shakily grasping onto his glass of Sprite with trembling fingers, whereas Thor appears as the epitome of calm, sipping at his own beer as he stares Peter down with a friendly enough smile upon his lips.

Thor’s space isn’t how Peter expects it, but that’s not entirely surprising; the god’s been ripping apart at his expectations left and right. The only things that meets Peter’s expectations are the fur throw on the back of the black leather sofa that seems to speak to Thor’s personality in the facet of being a Norse god. But there’s also not a hint of gold around the whole place, like Peter expects there to have been, and the entire place, though painted in dark hues with curtains thrown wide open and lights turned down low, is subdued in its level of expense, but he’s been around Tony long enough to know the difference between the cheap knockoffs and the genuine article, and the small, dark wood table they currently sit at is genuine mahogany.

“You act as if I aim to hurt you,” Thor notes aloud.

Peter blinks, having been lost in thought, and says in a voice too dumb for his level of intelligence, “Huh?”

Thor gestures towards him. “The way you sit, it’s as if you’re preparing to run on a moment’s notice. The way you fidget with the glass; it’s as if you worry that I have some sort of ulterior motive here. I would not hurt you, child, I have no reason to harm the son of a dear friend. That’s not my intentions.”

Peter swallows dryly, looking down at his glass, focusing on the beads of perspiration on the sides. “But with all due respect,” he whispers, “I don’t really know what you want anyways.”

Thor makes a humming sound. “That is fair enough. I extend my sincerest apologies.” He’s silent for a moment, and Peter can’t bring himself to look him in his face, but he can tell by the way he tightens his hand around his bottle that he’s trying to say something. “I can’t help but be curious about you. Last time I met your father, you were not mentioned.”

“He didn’t know me yet,” Peter tells him, “I didn’t meet him until after the Chitauri.”

“I recall,” Thor tells him, “I’ve asked after you.”

Peter blinks, looking up as best as he can, though he can only get himself to look at Thor’s chin. “Why?”

“Curiosity,” Thor shrugs, “I would’ve just asked you myself, but you avoid me, so it made asking a bit more difficult.”

Peter can’t help the blush, losing his progress as he looks back down at his [shaking] hands, trying to resist the urge to curl up into the smallest ball of embarrassment, quietly whispering out his apologies to the god while he wished for the floor to just open up and swallow him whole, so he can escape the awkwardness of this interaction. He’s never been more aware of his own shortcomings as he is in this very moment, more aware of his own socially retarded nature than he is right now, drinking Sprite with the Norse God of Thunder. And, to make things worse, Thor laughs at him, and he just wants to choke on the Sprite and die right there. It’s not like the man laughs small, either; he laughs _hard_ and he laughs _long_ , full-bodied laughs that speak to the hilarity he finds in Peter’s embarrassment, and that only serves to further fuel it, Peter’s head ducking lower and lower with each passing moment of Thor’s laughing spell. On one hand, he wants to be glad that he’s causing such a pleasant reaction in the man, but on the other, he’s a bit upset that the reaction is him laughing at him, because he’s not trying to be funny and he genuinely wants Thor to like him.

“I’m glad I’m so funny,” Peter mumbles out to his lap, and just like that, like the flip of a switch, Thor’s laughter abruptly ceases, and his stomach is fluttering somehow worse than before.

“I do not laugh because I find you amusing, young Stark,” Thor informs him, and Peter can’t resist the urge that arises to correct him on the Stark thing, and he can hear the confusion when the god asks, “What?”

Peter swallows dryly, forgetting momentarily that there’s soda in his hand and he could’ve used it to clear his throat just as effectively, if not more so.

“Stark, you said,” Peter says to his hands, trying to keep his words steady and clear, “My last name’s Parker. I’m Peter Parker.”

“You do not adopt the name of Stark?” asks Thor in response.

“He’s my dad, but I’m not a Stark,” he informs him, “I’m a Parker.”

“And whom are these Parkers from which you come from?” Thor asks, leaning forward just enough in his chair for Peter to discern his genuine interest. “Whom are these people to you that you would claim them over your own father?”

Peter can’t help the brow furrowing, looking up just a bit more to reach the level of Thor’s shoulders. He knows that the man is just being curious, but he can’t help but find the question rude—as if asking if he’s not _loyal_ enough to his dad, in some way, almost, when he _is_ , that’s his Dad and nobody can tell him differently, especially not some… some… _some relic_ like Thor.

“I don’t know them,” he admits.

“Then why not take the name Stark?” Thor asks, “If they are not your family, why not show your fealty towards your father?”

“Okay, first off,” Peter says, trying to remain civil and keep the nervousness embedded in the righteous anger from making his voice quiver, “I don’t have any sort of fealty to my Dad; he’s not a lord or something. Secondly, I’m not required to take his name, and I don’t wanna, either. I like my name. I like being Peter _Parker_. And third…” The third reason is a thought that he’s admittedly guilty even thinking, but it does him no good not to say it now, especially since he’s come this far and he’s now managing to look at Thor’s mouth as he speaks, “Third is that I was Peter Parker way before I was _ever_ Tony Stark’s son. I’ve always been Peter Parker, and for a long time I only had me, and I’m not gonna just abandon me just because I got a family. I’m not gonna just pretend that Peter Parker never existed just ‘cause I’ve got Tony now.”

And then he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY FOR UPLOADING SO LATE!


	4. Righteous Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's not exactly happy with Thor. The Avengers aren't really here for it, though.

Right then and there he leaves, because just saying the thought makes him want to cry because it sounds like he doesn’t appreciate Tony enough, like Thor’s trying to say that Tony means nothing to him, because this _must’ve_ been why he was so confused about him and Dad because they’re not father and son, not really, they don’t even have a last name to bond them and he’s crying before the elevator doors even close, and he doesn’t even care if the god saw him because honestly, _fuck that guy_ , because he loves his Dad even if he’s not his father and loves his Pops even if he’s not his father either and loves his Tetya Natta even if she’s not really his aunt and loves his Uncles Rhody, Bruce and Clint even if they’re not really his uncles because they are his uncles, she is his aunt, they are his fathers, just like he’s their son, her niece, their nephews because he adopted them as much as they adopted him and he didn’t need a family name just to prove it. Fuck that guy, that’s his family, they don’t need to share a name, they are what he has, and he doesn’t have to sacrifice who he is just for a name, and he tells Dad that the moment he lays eyes on him, which is actually the moment he comes out of the elevator to the communal floor because JARVIS is just as intelligent as his name says he is and lets him out just as Dad’s walking through with a plate of toast.

Dad, for his part, is understandably confused when Peter barrels into him, and it takes him a bit to get him to calm down enough to explain, because Peter’s just about a blubbering incoherent mess of himself by the time he finds his Dad. It actually takes about an hour for Peter to calm down enough to get out a coherent sentence, and by the time he’s done telling his story, Dad’s looking equal parts amused, tired, annoyed, and frustrated, and like the cool adult he is, he forces a smile that he knows Peter can see through and softly says that maybe they need to sit down with Thor and have a chat.

“But I don’t _want_ to talk to that meathead!” spits Peter venomously, rubbing hard at his cheeks with the heel of his palm, “I don’t want to talk to him _ever_!”

Tony chuckles softly, though it is strained. “Sometimes I forget how old you are. I’m glad we have these moments to remind me that you’re a kid.”

“ _Your_ kid,” he reminds him, not catching on in this moment how Tony means that sentence (he does later, and he crows in indignant anger when he does). In this moment, he just wants to make sure that Tony doesn’t feel like Peter doesn’t love him just because he won’t take his last name.

Tony nods. “Yep, my kid,” he agrees, “My precious little Petey, who’s forgetting that Thor _lives_ in this building and works with his daddies and will eventually have to be in his airspace.”

“No, I don’t!” Peter cries out, affronted, “I’m never going near him ever again! I don’t care how much Natta blackmails me! I don’t want to!”

“Really, Peter, thank you for this. I always wanted to experience this,” Tony says quietly (he also does not realize his sarcasm until later on, either).

For the better part of the next week, Peter holds true to this promise he’s made to his father, though it’s admittedly very easy when he rarely leaves the apartment he lives in with his fathers except when it’s time to go to school. There was one time he almost ran into Thor in the lobby of the tower, but he found a plant to hide behind just before Thor noticed him there, and then Thor got distracted by adoring fans so Peter got to keep up his streak of avoiding Thor (in hindsight, it was probably more the adoring fans that had helped him out that day more than his hiding skills, as while the planter was wide, the plant in question was still bamboo). All the while, Dad tries to encourage him to be the bigger person, so to speak, and to extend the olive branch and allow Thor to explain himself because, as he says every time now,

“Allspeak can’t fix foot in mouth,”

Though Peter doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean and he’s sure Dad knows that.

“It’s like a program, if Thor’s explained it right,” Natta tells him as she fixes his stance, finding his pose lacking in form. “He doesn’t really speak English, when he talks to us, and he doesn’t really speak any language in particular, but he can speak in all languages.”

“So, he does speak in a language,” Peter retorts as she pushes his knee back just a tad, trying to do his best to remain still so she can maneuver him correctly. Saturdays are commonly spent this way, in the gym with Natta and Uncle Clint, training with them to better defend himself. He has a love-hate relationship with these days, because while he appreciates that they care enough to be bothered doing this, he’s also not an incredibly athletic kid and it’s something that these sessions make abundantly clear, much to his embarrassment, but they’ve made it their apparent mission to work on that fact.

“Yeah, but nah,” says Clint from where he warms up none too far off, “Because we can understand him ‘cause the Allspeak interprets his words and puts it through like a filter, kinda.”

Natta nods, but it isn’t clear if it’s in agreement or because she’s finally got Peter’s stance looking half-correct before she says, “The Allspeak is more of like a language filter than anything. Apparently, all Asgardians receive the ability upon birth.”

Peter’s nose wrinkles, and he’s tempted to drop position because from a scientific standpoint he needs to understand this more than he needs to be able to fight a little bit but from the way Natta’s eyes flash when he tries to drop his hands, he simply has to accept his fate and ask the simpler questions, such as whether or not Natta hears him in Russian or English, to which she smiles and responds that it’s half and half before drawing the knife from her thigh holster, asking Peter if he’s ready but not actually waiting to hear the response, running at him with an unmistakable lethality. Peter dodges the first swing, his hand reaching out and lightly tapping at her wrist to deflect the motion of her slash as he backs up a step, keeping his eyes on Natta and not her hand, just like he’s been taught to.

He doesn’t like going against Natta, not because she’s quickly become his favorite amongst these newfound extended family members, but because she genuinely scares him. The switch from his Tetya Natta to the Black Widow is so quick that he never has time to catch his bearings, and the way Black Widow moves—gracefully, as if she’s dancing, a stark contrast to the danger she presents on her attack—genuinely frightens him. Of course, that’s why Natta insists on going against him so often, because, as she explains, she should be the scariest thing he knows.

He manages to evade two more slashes before Uncle Clint comes in, succinctly tagging the Black Widow out before moving in on him. Hawkeye is as merciless as the Black Widow is, and while the blade he wields is smaller, he uses it effectively nonetheless. Black Widow had aimed for Peter’s arms, whereas Clint aims for the torso, thrusting rather than slicing, making Peter maneuver his body out the way whereas with the Black Widow he must deflect the swings. Both are meant to increase his natural flexibility, because while Peter is not very athletic, he’s always been flexible, much less clumsy like normal children in the traditional sense and slightly more graceful, a unique trait that they’re looking to encourage the development of within these training practices.

They switch on and off, forcing Peter to evade several different offensive styles repeatedly. Rarely do they reverse roles, have Peter on the attack, and Peter believes it has more to do with the fact that he’s rarely going to find someone he can take on given his size and stature, but Peter doesn’t really mind. He’s never had much interest in fighting, if he’s entirely honest, he only does this because he lives in a house with a 90-plus-old super-soldier, two former assassins, a super genius with equally dangerous weapons and sometimes a Hulk and he needs to be able to hold his own at least to show face, because how can he live with the Avengers and not know a thing about fighting?

They finally let him take a break after thirty minutes of nonstop defense, and like always, he relishes in this time, taking gasping breaths as he collapses into the matted floor, his skin slick with sweat as he runs his arm across his forehead to no relief, and he must take off his glasses, they’re so foggy from the overheat coming off his body. He’s only wearing a t-shirt and some shorts and yet he feels like he’s boiling, like he’s wearing far too much clothing. Natta affectionately taps his stomach with the tip of her sneaker before holding out his bottle of water, which drips with cold perspiration that has him rushing into an upright position just to snatch from her hands, at which point Uncle Clint throws a towel at him to wipe off with, hitting him square in the face with it and chortling at the boy’s indignant resulting squawking.

He doesn’t like these training sessions, but he loves spending time with his aunt and uncle, so he suffers silently.

“But honestly, Peter,” Clint says as he dabs delicately at the small beads of sweat dotting his hairline, “Thor is not a bad person. He’s not trying to be mean to you or test your loyalty to Tony or anything like that. Thor just is very good at… not reading situations very well.”

“He means to say that Thor has good intentions,” Natta adds, taking a swig out her bottle, “And you should let him try to talk to you; get to know you, because that’s all he’d like to do. You’re his friend’s son and he would just like to understand you more.”

Clint gives her a regarding look. “You’d call Tony Thor’s friend?” he asks.

Natta just stares at him for a moment before shaking her head, returning her attentions to Peter, who now finds it easier to keep his sitting position as seen by the noticeable lack of trembling that he’s sure that they both noticed just as soon as he did.

“Thor is not a bad guy,” Natta says as she brings herself to her feet, preparing for round two, which all of Peter’s soul screams in rejection of as he follows suit, “I think you should give him another shot.”


	5. A Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation is had.

The next shot comes probably too quickly for Peter’s liking. One of Dad’s Stark Industries projects has just been cleared into application phases, and so two weeks later he throws a gala in honor of the event, and Peter would go if it weren’t for the fact that he’s supposed to be _secret_ so he _doesn’t_ get kidnapped which means that Peter gets to more than happily skip the black tie, two-hundred dollar plate gala and sit around in his apartment in his Hulk pajamas picking out what to order on the Dominos app on his tablet. Tony’s assured him that all he has to do is push one button on his phone and he’ll be right upstairs and Bruce is right down the hall and he has nothing to be worried about and—

“Dad, I’ll be fine,” he tells Dad with a grin, selecting out the MeatZZa Fest to go with his two orders of chocolate lava cakes and marbled cookie brownies, planning on bloating like a balloon, which is precisely why he’s strategically worn pants with a stretchy waist. He’s going to eat his heart out and he’s going to watch all of _Star Wars_ (or as much as possible before he falls asleep), and he’s going to have a great night by himself while his parents try to stifle their boredom downstairs.

Pops rolls his eyes at the ridiculousness of the two of them, fixing his bowtie in the mirror by the door, watching the two of them through their reflections.

“Maybe you should invite Thor up,” he chimes from his place.

Peter gives Pops the same smile he assured Dad with to say, “Not a chance in hell.”

“Language,” Pops chastises.

Still, Peter is unconvinced, and so when Thor turns up at the door two hours after he finished all the lava cakes, Peter is less than enthused about his presence and expresses it thusly, as so categorized by the, “oh, what the _actual fuck_ ,” that leaves his lips, gripping the door a bit tighter as he resists the urge to slam the door in the demigod’s face.

Thor’s lips quirk in the slightest bit of a smirk as he comments that it’s probably not becoming of a kid Peter’s age to be using language of that caliber, to which Peter reminds him that he’s the same idiot who didn’t even know that kids his age aren’t even allowed to drink (and to which, additionally, Peter wonders if he can really get away with calling a demigod an idiot, though Thor doesn’t actually seem to mind).

“I have been led to believe that we have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Thor says to him, “And I am here to right the wrong. May I come in?”

And of course, being the logical young man Peter is, he obviously responds with a stubborn, hardheaded and concrete “no” that _of course_ has Thor coughing out a laugh, pushing his way through the doorway as if Peter had been joking which he _very much had not been, thank you very much_ , and it has him fuming and stalking after him with as much abject anger could fit in his preteen body.

“What are you doing?” he barks angrily at the demigod as he welcomes himself to sit at the couch, “I didn’t invite you in. I did the opposite. Why are you here? Why are you sitting on my couch? Why are you _eating my cheesy bread_?”

Thor pauses midway inserting the piece of counterfeit cheesy bread to his lips, regarding Peter with an admittedly guilty look before he places it back into the confines of its box.

Peter sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose in irritation, “Can you please go away? I’m having a good night. I have no homework, Pops isn’t here to tell me that I’m eating too much, and I get to watch _all_ of _Star Wars_ and go to bed when I want and I _don’t_ want to do this, can you _please_ just go away?”

Thor regards him for a moment longer before asking, “Why are you so determined upon not allowing me to extend my apologies for offending you?”

Peter’s answer is admittedly uncharacteristic for him, and thusly he’s immediately apologetic, but nonetheless he says, “Because you don’t _get_ to apologize,” right before he mutters the ever so hypocritical apology, looking off to the side awkwardly, kicking his foot at the edge of the coffee table in an effort to let go some of the regret that had built up all too quickly within himself, and he wishes for the umpteenth time in his life that he was born with a little more ability to be openly rude to people without the feeling of guilt hitting him like a freight train.

Thor, for his part, doesn’t seem so offended when the statement is made. In fact, he mostly nods in acceptance of the statement, as if he’s earned the rudeness, which makes Peter feel even _worse_ about it.

Sighing, Peter fidgets awkwardly with the hem of his pajama shirt, playing with the loose green thread, his head hanging down as he settles himself to the self-debate arising within himself to make amends for his rudeness, at least, because he’s not the kind of kid to be like this to people, because it’s one thing as a joke but it’s another if it’s completely serious, and especially if it’s one of his dads’ friends, and—

“I apologize for insinuating that you didn’t love your father,” Thor says.

Peter blinks.

In complete and total honesty, he wasn’t expecting Thor to _actually_ apologize. He honestly was thinking that ‘apology’ was a word that Thor had used as a type of placeholder because, _obviously,_ people like Thor don’t apologize to anyone for any of the inane actions that they commit. It just doesn’t happen, not in Peter’s life, and he can’t help but stare at him like a gaping fish, which Thor makes commentary upon with a small smirk quirked upon his lips, which has Peter shutting his mouth with a quick _snap_ that has him audibly wincing.

Thor gets up immediately, moving to him and disconcertingly coming in close, grabbing Peter by the jaw and forcibly moving his head so he can get a better look, and Peter can’t help but say,

“Dude, please let go of me,”

With all discomfort clear in his tone.

Thor takes it as his turn to blink, immediately releasing his jaw and taking a step back, apology leaving his mouth once more.

“I just wanted to make sure that you were unharmed,” Thor explains, hands dropping to his sides.

“Yeah, I got that,” Peter says before he groans, rolling his eyes, “Look, I’m sorry. This is just… I don’t like you.”

“I am aware,” Thor responds, coughing due to what Peter can only assume is the awkward that he himself feels choking at his own throat, “And it is nothing I do not deserve. I have not been the kindest to you with the words I have used. I hope you believe me when I say that I did not intend to offend in any way. I was merely just curious and it came out offensively.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Peter says, “That doesn’t mean it’s okay.”

“I never meant to offend,” Thor repeats, as if that makes a difference.

“It doesn’t matter if you didn’t, because you did already,” Peter snaps, his hand fisting tight as he glares at Thor, “Do you think that just because you’re… _you_ that you can just get away with being rude to whomever because you’re a god and above me because you’re not adopted?”

Thor’s brow wrinkled. “I never said anything of the sort,” he tells Peter.

“You didn’t have to!” Peter says with a slightly louder tone, surprising even himself because he’s not one to raise his voice at adults, he doesn’t do this ever, but here he is, doing this to the God of Thunder nonetheless, and he’s finding that now he’s started he can’t stop, he’s still going, still ranting about how unfair Thor’s been, how rude he’s been, how wrong he is to insinuate that he didn’t feel loyalty towards Tony, how he made him feel like he didn’t love his family enough, made him feel like he didn’t deserve them for still being a Parker, that he didn’t deserve to be loved because he wants to be a Parker, and Thor has no right to make him feel such a way because he _loves_ his Dad so much, loves both his dads so much; they are the family he never knew he needed and Thor can never, ever take that away from him, and Thor, for his part; he just listens, his eyes on Peter throughout the whole rant, his expression unreadable all throughout as he waits noticeably for Peter to finish shouting at him, and when he does stop shouting, Thor doesn’t move for a good minute meanwhile on his end, Peter is actively crying, wiping hard at his face.

Peter’s not a big fan of crying, especially in front of strangers, especially smug strangers who pretend that they know who he is, and Peter, being the motormouth he is, isn’t even aware he’s saying that until Thor says,

“I am not trying to pretend that I know you.”

Peter coughs a dry, incredulous laugh. “Yes, you are.”

“I am not,” he reiterates with a sigh, “I am curious of you.”

“But why?” Peter asks, “So you can judge me?”

“No,” he says, “So I can understand better.”

“What is there even to understand about me?” Peter asks in frustration.

“Not you,” Thor specifies, raising up a hand, “Loki.”

Peter would ask _who_ if Peter didn’t remember very clearly from multiple conversations he’s overheard in his days living here in the tower who exactly Thor is referring to. He pauses in his abject anger, brow furrowing confusedly as to what exactly Thor means, what he’s getting at.

“Loki was adopted as well,” he informs Peter.

Peter nods slowly. “Yeah. I heard my dads talking about it. That doesn’t make us the same.”

He says this mostly because he doesn’t want to be related to a murderer who chose to wage intergalactic war over his home city and tried to enslave all of mankind.

“Loki referred to himself as one of Jotunheim before he died,” he says.

That makes Peter quirk his brow, but not for the Jotunheim thing because he’s done enough research to figure out a vague idea of what Jotunheim is in Thor’s strange multiverse of a reality he lives in, it’s the fact this is the first time he’s even hearing the fact that Loki is dead, and he has a feeling he hasn’t even told the other Avengers yet. Thor looks at Peter for a moment before he gives him a small smile, one so sad that Peter feels something other than abject anger in regards to the Asgardian.

“I just would like to understand more of what Loki felt,” Thor continues, looking down at his hands, “I _need_ to understand what Loki felt. I never…” Thor sighs now, looking forlorn as he tries again, “He was my brother and I never understood… not even before I knew… we went through so much and yet I never knew…” Thor closes his eyes, but not just simply closes them, he squeezes them tight in that way that Peter knows so well as the look of a person trying so hard to hold onto such precious memories. Thor takes a breath, shaky and all parts pained, and says, “He gave his life for me, a man not even his blood.”

“Blood doesn’t mean family,” Peter hears himself tell him before he realizes he’s speaking, and nearly curses himself because the last thing he wanted for his day is sympathize with the giant alien meathead.

Thor looks at him and says, “A family is that of a name and of blood.”

“Not necessarily,” Peter says, to which Thor burrows his brow in a display of honest and open confusion, and for the first time Peter sees the vulnerability in the demigod before him, and he now understands why the other Avengers are so quick to vouch for him in the face of Peter’s anger. It’s not simply because Peter’s a kid and he shouldn’t be getting this type of rage with adults (though he knows it has something to do with the fact that Thor is his elder and he should respect him thusly), it also has to do with the fact that Thor is, at the end of the day, still just trying to figure out his place in the world that keeps so rapidly changing, just like anyone else, and suddenly Peter’s asking himself how he would feel if his life had been one way for such a long time just for it to plummet so rapidly and leave him so lonely.

For Thor, these past two or so years in particular have been more like mere moments compared to the two thousand he must have lived so far—and these mere moments, from Peter knows, especially when it comes to the topic of his brother, have been filled with pain and suffering.

Peter sighs now, gesturing for Thor to sit back down.

Thor, for his part, sits with a hesitation that makes Peter feel like he’s picking on the man, which he guesses is more or less the case, it’s just that the man in particular is an alien god that people have based mythology around and shouldn’t be warily watching if Peter’s going to jump him.

“I don’t remember my parents,” Peter says, quietly, a hushed tone that he hopes doesn’t betray so much how weird this conversation is for him as he thinks it does, his hands fisted atop his knees tight, “I was too young when they passed. My first memory is being tucked into bed by a worker at a group home I was staying in and crying the whole night because it was dark and none of the other boys would come and hold me.”

He doesn’t look at Thor while he’s saying these things.

He can’t look at Thor.

He hasn’t even told _Tony_ these things.

“I bounced around a bunch of homes since I was two years old. I don’t know how many, I’m sure my files say it and Dad knows it but all I know is that I’d be around for a few months and then I’d be back at another home. One time, I was all the way up in the Bronx for nine months and I thought that these fosters were for sure gonna adopt me, they really seemed like they were gonna, they had a bunch of kids already and they were all really nice to me and they were all former fosters too but one day they just kinda changed their mind, you know? It just happens that way sometimes. And then I was back in Queens by the weekend. They sent me back just before Christmas—do you have Christmas in Asgard? Well, if you don’t, it’s a big shindig, especially for kids. We get chocolates and cake and there’s a big dinner and a tree—oh, and presents! I forget about presents. We get toys and video games and books and videos and board games and bikes—well, other kids did. I got my first real Christmas gift when I was nine. A home I was in gave me new shoes for Christmas. Well, they always gave us new clothes when we needed them but I only had one pair of shoes at a time until I was nine, then I had a pair of sneakers and a pair of snow boots. All the kids got snow boots.

“Anyways, I’m rambling, aren’t I? Well, I was bouncing around a lot and I never really wanted to want things. You kind of grow into that, not wanting things, you can’t be disappointed if you never really wanted it in the first place. But then, Dad, he threw another Stark Expo—a much shorter one this time, since there had just been one the year before and a two-year Stark Expo would’ve been too much so he only did a weekend—and it just felt like it was fate because I’d passed by it so many times, the previous Expo I mean, and I just couldn’t afford to go and I missed it and now it was back and I never wanted to go to something so bad in my life so I snuck in. Me! I’d never done anything like that in my life! I found a bolt cutter and cut some holes in a fence by the porta-potties and let myself in. It was amazing! It was so bright and it was so warm and so many people were in one place and there was so many exhibits of such amazing innovations that Stark Industries brought to the world and then—and then—I saw _Dad!_ But he wasn’t Dad then, he was Mr. Stark, Mr. Tony Stark the bajillionaire and he was there and he had been my idol for a long time and I thought, if there’s anything I deserve, I deserve to meet him, right? His face, wherever I went, hung above my bed because he’s up there with Newton and Einstein and Galileo and Hawking for me. He was my hero before he became one. And I didn’t want anything for a long time, I just wanted to meet _the_ Mr. Stark once.

“And I did. And it didn’t go the way I wanted it to. Security I guess had been searching for me and they had found me just as I was about to have my moment, and then Mr. Stark stepped in and saved me. And then he actually—really, he did—he _talked_ to me! Like I was a real person! And he bought me a candy apple. I’m a city kid; I’d never had a candy apple before! He took time to make sure I was okay and I was safe and I’d never felt that way before. And then he did it again—and again—and again and again and again and then he decided he was gonna stay for good, that he was gonna keep _me_ around—me, of all kids! How could I get so lucky? And then I met Pops! He was my Pops before he was with Dad and I’ve never said it out loud but he’ll be my Pops after he’s with my Dad too, though I’m not saying it to mean I want them to break up; it’s just how much I love him. And then I got _uncles_ out of it—Uncle Clint’s a bit weird and Uncle Bruce is a bit weirder sometimes and maybe Uncle Rhodey is too normal in comparison but I love them, too… and I got aunts out of it! I got Natta and Pepper and they love me, they all love me, and I love them all so _much_. I didn’t know I was lonely until they came around. I didn’t know I could be wanted until they came and got me.”

Peter has to literally close his eyes to stop the welling of tears coming up from his verbal vomit.

The truth hurts sometimes as much to say as it does to hear, and it’s just outright stabbing him in the chest right now.

“But… sometimes…” he says with a dry swallow, “Sometimes even though I know they want me I feel a little alone, y’know? And a little scared.” A tear escapes as he admits, “A lot scared. Because… what if they stop wanting me, like everyone else has? The fosters in the Bronx waited nine months to not want me anymore. Another foster didn’t even wait a week to not want me. What if they just… change their mind on me? Decide I’m not worth it anymore? Decide I’m just… not enough?”

The tears are not stopped by his eyelids anymore. They’re freely flowing down his face, and he still doesn’t open them because while the world would be watery and blurry he still doesn’t want to look at Thor, he doesn’t want to see that he’s even there, because he’d much rather believe for himself that he’s all alone in this moment than to see that someone has heard his deepest fears. Peter’s a lot of things, sensitive being one, but even he knows at this young age of his that sensitivity and vulnerability are not the same thing, because he hasn’t let himself be this exposed in such a long time. Whether he’s hurt by things, deeply hurt, is for himself to feel, not for the world to know and take advantage of. Dad’s seen his vulnerable side only a few times, but Peter knows he doesn’t know the depth of his hurt and he wants to keep it that way.

But Peter also knows he needed to expose this side of himself to Thor so the demigod could understand. From what Peter could grasp, he understood that Thor just didn’t get what a family love means to a person. What it means for someone to receive said love. What it means to give such a love. It’s easy, Peter’s learned, when you’re born into this love—it’s been a learned trait for Peter every step of the way, and he can only assume that it must’ve been so for Loki as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is supposed to be fluff. Goddamn, this is actually fucking FLUFF for me. 
> 
> So I finished the Bucky story and that was hard, I'm working on another Peter story, this time an origin story (yuck, I know) and I realized how much this series means to me. This series, with all its depression and anxiety and dialogue and emotions, is my baby. And even if all that comes next is shit to ya'll, know that this is an expression of the evolution of my emotions put into words and expressed through these characters. I'm not going to lie, these next few stories are dark. I'm not writing them in a great head space. I've gone through a lot since I've turned 21, since I started this series. My depression has beaten me into the ground. I've gone through some... abuse, I guess? I don't know how to classify a lot of it. Harassment doesn't sound right. Rape doesn't sound right either. I honestly don't know. But I do know they falls under abuse. And I do know it's changed me. But I've gone through that and it's led me to this relationship I'm in now. It's good. It's hard but it's good. And it's supportive. I'm coming to it with a lot of baggage and I'm putting the baggage through this filter because I'm still learning how to express it, for me and for him. But it's a work in progress. And it's what I need. 
> 
> Also, thank you to the reviewers. I don't say this enough, but your words mean so much to me. It keeps me going, keeps me believe "i can do this" and "this is for something". This is for you. Thank you. 
> 
> (Also, sorry for dropping my baggage here.)


	6. A Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue, of sorts, to our tale.

Peter doesn’t know how long he’s crying until he feels a strong hand touch his shoulder. Just barely, does Thor touch him, but he flinches like the Asgardian put his full might down upon his shoulder. Thor doesn’t make an audible sound of hurt at it, but Peter can feel it just enough that he looks up. He can’t make out Thor’s face through all the water, but he can see the tissue he is holding up—a small offering, Peter realizes. Whispering his thanks, he takes it from the man, knowing it’ll do nothing for the mini waterfall gushing from his eyes but appreciating the gesture nonetheless.

He also doesn’t know how long it is before Thor speaks next, but Peter does know the cheesy bread has long since gone cold.

“Loki and I did not know of his adoption until my banishment from our realm,” he admits to Peter quietly, calmly, his own anger kept in the background of his tone. Peter can hear it nonetheless, rearing at its cage and demanding to be heard.

“Loki is of Jotunheim. Frost Giants. Father used an ancient magic to permanently alter his natural form to that of an Asgardian. He raised us two as what I had thought to be the same, never telling Loki once of his true self. I do not know how Loki came to discover the deceit, nor did I know what Loki’s feelings are to the truth… what I do know now are feelings he had hidden from me for years. That my brother had always felt… distant. That he had always felt as if he and I were on two different planes when it came to how we were treated. He just wanted to feel that he was on equal footing with me. And now…”

Thor sighs heavily, as if this conversation has weighed on his very soul.

“Now I know what he felt when he was told the truth. You have illuminated it for me. And now I can do little more but wish that I could tell him that he is still even in this second my brother.”

It is silent between the two of them for a long time. Peter’s not keeping track of time during these moments, he’s too busy on trying to stop crying in front of a goddamn _god_ , and it takes a while but eventually the tears are gone and his eyes are just puffy and swollen and painful and he has to excuse himself to the bathroom to go wash his face of all the snot. When he returns, Thor’s sitting in exactly the same place, his perch upon the edge of the couch exactly the same, but his face couldn’t be of more anguish, and Peter isn’t sure, exactly what to do about it—preteens, after all, are not qualified to be the therapist of grown men, especially when the grown man in particular is over two thousand years old—and so he offers the only thing he can think to offer:

“Wanna order some lava cakes and watch some TV?”

Thor, of course, has questions about what lava cakes are, which is what leads to him ordering ten of them with a box or two of fresh cheesy bread, and this is how Tony finds the two of them when he arrives to the floor—Peter half-awake, drowsily shouting at Ron and Leslie for being stupid and not being friends (because his form of handling his sorrows is re-watching _Parks and Recreation_ ), his head on Thor’s shoulder and Thor visibly and audibly more relaxed into the sofa by show of his snoring, having had fallen asleep long before this particular episode began.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dad says as he lifts Peter into his arms after shutting off the screen, ignoring the kid’s mumbling of complaints towards the injustice. In the back of his mind, Peter’s aware that Uncle Bruce and Pops are carefully trying to wake up Thor, which explains to him why it’s Dad attempting to carry him. “How was your night? What’d you do tonight?”

“Thor came,” Peter explains sleepily, to which Dad chuckles and replies,

“Yeah, buddy, I figured that out. What you’d guys do?”

Peter yawns. Dad’s taking him to bed. He’s a little aware of that.

“N’much. Talked.”

“Yeah? About what?”

“His brudder. And me. And him.” Dad stiffens but Peter doesn’t think much of it. He nuzzles in against Dad’s clavicle. “Thor missus Loki.”

“Does he, now?”

“Yeah. He missus im a lot. He died.”

“ _Did_ he? How do you know?”

“Thor told meh. You’re righ. Thor’s nice.” He yawns again. Now that the TV is off, Peter feels heavily how sleepy he is. It’s a largely food induced coma, paired with all the crying he’s done, that’s knocked him particularly on his ass. “I lurve you, Da.”

Dad chuckles, his chest rumbling. “Is that right?”

“Yeah. I lurve you soooo much Da. You’re not gonna leaveh me, righ Da?”

“No, buddy.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, Peter.”

And, before he falls asleep, he thinks one last thought:

_I hope Loki knew how much Thor loves him._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry it took me so long to come out with another story (and for it not to be the Bucky story at that!) I'm working on it, it's just proving difficult because this is now the fourth POV I've written in along this series of stories and Bucky's is definitely the weirdest. It's put together but it's also fragmented. It's self-assured while emotionally damaged... it's so conflicting compared to Steve's (self-depreciating), Peter's (young and confused), and Tony's (guardedly hopeful). Writing it has been difficult, even after taking a break on it and doing some fluff, but then the fluff (this) turned into a retrospective look on familial love & ties and a monster in its own right. 
> 
> So thus, I apologize, and I hope you guys bear with me. This is chronologically first in this new series though it's technically, what, seventh? This is gonna be annoying to organize and update but again bear with me. I love y'all.


End file.
